Her
by Ms Snubble
Summary: He was conflicted. Everything in him told him above all else, he should place himself. Self-interest and preservation were the rules that he knew well. His childhood, his house, his heritage; it all dictates that he put himself first but then she had come along and ruined him.
1. Torn Apart

There was precious little Anastasia trusted more than her intuition. So when she had the nagging feeling that something was wrong she didn't dismiss it. Sticking to the shadows of the hallways and being careful to make as little noise as possible, she had crept behind one Lucretia Black, positive all the while that her intuition would pay off. She walked quietly behind the girl for some time, as the other girl took several back pathways before stopping in front of an unremarkable tapestry on the 7th floor. She wondered fleetingly if she was wrong to be suspicious of Black when the girl in question chanced a hurried look around the otherwise empty corridor before disappearing behind the aged fabric.

Counting the seconds to ensure a full two minutes had passed she approached the tapestry. What could Black be up to that would require her to sneak from the dungeons to the 7th floor in the dead of the night? She shuffled along the wall until she was flush with the lip of the alcove. From her position, she could hear the rustling of clothes and the wet smacking of mouths to skin. She smiled to herself. There was no way Ignatius Prewett was the one accosting his betrothed as he had graduated two years prior. The little trollop. This would make for quite the piece of leverage. She lifted her hand to draw back the tapestry and see just who she would have leverage over when a monosyllabic name froze her action.

"Tom!"

That single breathy moan turned her blood to ice. Her skin grew clammy and her heart thundered. She must have misheard there was no way that—

"Oh, Tom."

Lucretia's exhalation was softer this time, but there was no mistaking what she'd said. If Black's moaning was to be believed she was involved in quite the tryst with none other than Tom Riddle.

Before she could stop herself Anastasia ripped back the tapestry. Riddle's hair was in a state, the typically immaculate style long since departed in Black's possessive clutches. His robes had been shed and several buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a long line of hit pale torso. His unbuckled belt hung loosely around his narrow hips, his trousers seemingly intact. Despite their apparent haste she had managed to interrupt them before they began copulating.

Tom's head snapped in her direction at the noise, and Lucretia, undeterred by his distraction, took the opportunity to lavish loud, wet kisses on his skin. He was staring directly at her, his dark eyes boring into hers. Her eyes flicked down to his neck which was littered in angry love bites before coming back to his eyes. She wasn't imagining it, he was looking directly at her. She quickly looked down to see that she was quite visible in the entryway. He must have countered her spell.

He stood stock-still, hips pressed intimately into Lucretia, eyes wide and disbelieving. A series of emotions quickly flit over his face before it settled on his rendition of pleading. The last thing she saw before she hurried away was his mouth opening. No doubt with some lie. It didn't matter though. None of it did.

She was surprised when she made it back to the safety of the common room without incident. The trek to the alcove had been quite the adventure in staying undetected, so to run straight to the common room, down the main staircase undetected felt like a blessing. She had just made it to the top of the stairs to the girls' dormitory, desperately out of breath, when he burst into the room, the portrait slamming shut in his wake.

"Let me explain."

Her chest and sides burned as she tried—with limited success—to reign in her breathing and her scattered emotions. She didn't turn to face him when she responded, finding it infinitely easier to address him when she wasn't subject to the full weight of his charm.

"Explain what exactly Tom?"

The only sound to be heard above the crackling hearth was their heavy breathing.

"Anastasia—"

"I'm sure there's nothing that you can say that will have the effect that you desire Mr Riddle." She clenched her hands into fists to stop their shaking. Desperate to regain control of herself. "So why don't we just save ourselves the trouble and go about our respective ways, hm?"

She turned to regard him at last, cataloguing his appearance. He stood before her now, pristine as always. Hair sitting just so, uniform unwrinkled, the headboy badge pinned to his robes. She frowned; it was a stark contrast to what she had just walked in on. Even the love bites were gone.

"Come here, Anastasia."

Laughter bubbled out of her unbidden. And then she laughed some more. It was insulting that he thought her so stupid.

"Now Mr Riddle, why would I do a thing like that?" she asked, a demure smile tilting her lips.

"I'd like to have this conversation civilly."

"I'm not certain that there is a conversation to be had, Mr Riddle."

She didn't miss the twitch of his jaw or the way his hands balled into white-knuckled fists.

"I'd rather not let the entire house be privy to anything we may discuss." He practically hissed the last word which sent a shiver down her spine.

She dropped her voice low, "Is that why you instructed her to find you on the 7th floor? No Slytherin would stumble across you fucking her up there, and it's close enough to the heads dorms that you could explain away why you'd been out of bed should you be seen on your way back."

She couldn't help the wicked smile that twister her lips when a sneer attempted to claim his handsome face. Apparently she'd hit the target with that one.

Looking away from him briefly she surveyed the common room. It was empty but for a few of their classmates who were clearly listening with rapt interest, try as they might to appear otherwise. She envied them their positions now, it was never advisable to be the cause of the drama.

"Where is she anyway, your whore?"

She was sure his jaw would snap if he clenched it any harder. At this rate, she was surprised that he hadn't ground his teeth to a fine powder. His fight to keep his emotions in check played out across his face, an angry red flush marring his neck. Fought to keep his precious little secret to himself. She watched as he kept his lips firmly closed with a smirk. So he thought that he could save face by not answering her?

"My apologies Mr Riddle, it was not my intention to offend your delicate sensibilities with the use of such crass language to describe the amorous embrace in which I found you. Permit me to rephrase," she said, her smile downright predatory.

"Where is Lucretia Black?"

The hearth crackled merrily. There wasn't a person in the room whose attention wasn't focused on the pair of them. Good, she thought, let them watch. While this wasn't how she had intended to use this bit of information she wasn't about to let Tom Riddle get away with his deceit. She hadn't wanted to show her hand so soon as it would have been preferable to have something in her back pocket about Lucretia.

He weighed his options for several long minutes before he responded. There was no way for him to get out of this cleanly, she had made sure of that.

"She's in the hospital wing," he said, clasping his fingers together in front of him.

She narrowed her eyes at him. He wouldn't? Would he?

"You know Mr Riddle, most respectable pureblood witches learn of the contraception charm at the passing of our first cycle. Mayhaps Ms Black should ask her mother for assistance so you needn't rush her to Madame Dupont every time you two...embrace."

Her blood chilled at the toothy grin he gave her.

"Anastasia dove, you needn't worry. As you well know I'm very careful myself." She felt blood rush to her face and was grateful for her dark skin, his attempt to embarrass her thwarted. Gripping the rail of the stairs he placed one foot on the still solid step as he leaned towards her. "It would appear that Ms Black had a run-in with the wrong end of a cruciatus curse."

His words were sickeningly sweet in tone causing bile to church uncomfortably in her gut. The silence stretched between them, his gaze never leaving hers as he addressed the eavesdropping stragglers in the common room, not breaking eye contact with her to do so.

"All of you get out. Now."

He hadn't raised his voice, the threat inherent from relaying Lucretia's condition. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at him as the room was vacated.

No sooner had the final door closed than he had blanketed the Slytherin common room with a privacy charm.

She didn't speak, didn't move. She just watched him. He removed his foot from the now slippery ramp and released the rail, returning to his full height.

"Please come here, Anastasia. I won't be asking again."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"And why Merlin tell, would I do that? Let's see, oh, so you could push me up against a wall and kiss me silly? Tell me how sorry you are in that voice we both know I can't say no to? Finish what you started with Lucretia?"

She was seething by the time she was finished and he was in much a similar state of agitation.

"Lucretia meant nothing."

She laughed again. "Was that supposed to make me feel better Riddle? Merlin how could you be so stupid."

His jaw twitched—either at the use of his surname or the insult to his prized intellect— and she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her lips. He was so predictable. Well sometimes anyway.

"What exactly does that say about how you felt about me? Is what we had so meaningless that it was worth it to throw it away on someone that 'meant nothing'?"

"What we have." He said, his tone resolute.

She sneered at him. "You'd have to be as fucking mad as a hatter if you think there's still something between us."

"Anastasia."

She ignored his pleading tone, ignored how his voice dropped to something almost sinful, how his eyes begged her to hear him out.

"How many times?"

He didn't respond, but at least the trap that he had laid was now gone and in its place was poorly contained anger.

"How. Many. Times. Riddle."

"I don't know!" It was a roar that cut through the deafening silence.

She winced, "That many, I see. I must have meant a lot less than I had supposed." She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. She would not cry here. Not in front of him.

"Was she at least good? Was the sex worth it?"

She didn't expect him to respond, although her traitorous emotions wished that he would. Wished that he would say that it hadn't been worth it to lose her. Hadn't been worth a second of the pain he had caused her. So his next words left her winded.

"It was adequate."

Opening her eyes, she saw the man that she had fallen for. Beautiful and damaged and her heart broke anew.

"Just what every girl wants to hear."

She fled to her room, not waiting for a response.


	2. Chess

He hadn't so much as slept the night before. It was ruined. All of it. And at what price? _Her,_ his mind supplied. He groaned in frustration. Things with Lucretia Black were… _delicate._ He held no love for the girl, she was an excellent release when things got to be too much. He could never use _her_ the way he did Lucretia. He felt a wave of revulsion at the thought of Anastasia's face. Looking at him with such horror when she'd come across him and Black. He'd meant to be quick with Black. A wrench had been thrown into his plans and he needed an outlet. It was just rough, meaningless sex and a means of ensuring that he kept T_he Most Noble House of Black_ in his pocket. But then Anastasia had seen him with her and she'd been so repulsed by him. She hadn't listened. Nothing had worked and he was sure that come breakfast everyone would know that he had well and truly lost her.

He hadn't thought twice about crucioing Black in his anger at being discovered. He'd acted almost reflexively. He'd done it for _her_. Black deserved to be punished. He only realized belatedly that he'd effectively fucked himself. Lucretia would no doubt withdraw and he'd have destroyed things with Anastasia. And what did he have to show for it?

He grimaced. Anastasia had always had a way of complicating his plans. From the very first time, she'd foisted her friendship on him with little care about if he actually wanted it. She'd thoroughly complicated things. Where others feared his cruel and vindictive nature she often overlooked it in favour of nurturing his more appealing qualities, like his rare moments of compassion. He recalled the last time that he had tried to reign her in, tried to cow her like the others and she had scoffed at him.

"_Riddle, I'm not begging you to be my friend. I __**chose**_ _you. So either you stop with this ridiculousness and I forget that you attempted to exert your will over me or you should see to it that you never see fit to breathe in my direction again."_

He'd found himself to be appalled at how much he respected her for her cheek. Found that he didn't have it in him to punish her for the disrespect that she had shown him. But most of all, he'd found himself to be begrudgingly grateful that she was his. But that was all gone now. All of it.

He looked around his room, taking in the magnitude of the destruction that lay around him. All but his diary had fallen prey to the extent of his fury, the leather-bound book sat unscathed on his slashed table. Bits and pieces of paper and cloth lay haphazardly around the room. He'd been positive he'd been doing everything right. Had taken every precaution to ensure that he could have it all. And yet he'd lost her and everything around him had turned to ash.

She belonged to him. He knew this, and he was certain that she knew it too. He'd seen as much in the way she'd fought to stay away from him when he'd simply said her name. How she'd practically swooned when he'd summoned her. Well as much of a swoon as she was capable of anyway.

He picked his way through the debris to take a scalding shower and dressed for the day before heading to the great hall. He'd need to see about getting her back.

* * *

It hurt him more than he could express to see how beautiful she looked that morning. Her hair was swept back in a simple Grecian braid and a few well-placed curls framed her face. Her eyelashes were dark and sooty and her ample lips plump. She'd foregone her robe in favour of her uniform. The white blouse a stark contrast to her smooth, dark skin. He felt her absence by his side acutely. He could count on one hand the number of times in the past seven years of knowing each other that they had sat apart.

He watched her openly from a few seats down the table, willing her eyes to flick to his, even if briefly. But it never happened. She never so much as glanced to the side of the table where he sat. His attention was drawn away from her momentarily when one Abraxas Malfoy made a spectacle of leaving his seat and heading towards her. He'd never liked Malfoy, the aristocratic asswipe had never once bent to his will. His position and influence, his money, his _family_ a stronger draw than any power than Tom tried to lure him in with. Even though they were both still in school, it was clear that the world viewed Abraxas Malfoy as a man. And they both knew it.

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits when Abraxas stood beside her. The blond cleared his throat to get her attention and a hush fell across the table. Anastasia continued eating as though oblivious to those around her but Tom knew better. He'd always known her better. She was making him wait, unnerving him with her inattention. He smiled to himself. At least she would not be swayed by the albino oaf.

It was only when the murmurs at the table reached a fever pitch and Abraxas nervously cleared his throat for a second time that she looked up, feigning ignorance.

"Oh Abraxas, I hadn't seen you there. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her dark eyes were trained on the other man and Tom couldn't fight the surge of jealousy that flooded him as he watched the pair. They were polar opposites, appearing like two halves to the same whole. She and Tom had certainly made a striking pair, but even he knew it was not as impactful as she appeared with Malfoy.

"Lady Zabini, it has come to my attention that your hand has not yet been claimed. It would be remiss of me, Lady Zabini, not to ask formally for the opportunity to pursue a courtship."

The sound of shattering glass punctuated the silence that had fallen after Malfoy's declaration and several pairs of eyes swivelled to him but Tom didn't care. Her attention stayed resolutely on Malfoy for a moment longer before finally coming to rest on him.

It felt like an eternity passed between them as she watched him, expression carefully constructed, eyes carefully guarded. He felt shut out from her, left out in the cold for the first time since he'd known her. He felt alone.

She turned away before he could object, a demure smile plastered on her face, "You would be correct in your assessment Lord Malfoy."

He wanted to wipe the smug smirk from Abraxas' face. Mayhaps with his fists, or perhaps with one of his new curses, but there were too many witnesses. He chanced a glance towards the head table to see Dumbledore watching him with ill-concealed interest. No, he'd deal with Malfoy later.

"Would you, Anastasia, of the Noblest House of Zabini, accept this my formal offer of courtship?"

She paused for a beat and in that moment Tom willed her to look at him again. Willed her to look at him, even with contempt, even with apathy, if only it meant that she was looking at him and not considering Malfoy.

His heart clenched painfully with her response, an emotion besides anger managing to worm its way into his system.

"It would be my pleasure, my Lord."

* * *

He was seeing red. The image of Malfoy's lifeblood draining from his limp body coloured his perception until all he could see through the fog of his anger was blood red. He wanted Malfoy dead at his feet. Wanted the blond a heap of blood and bones and pain but instead, he was unscathed. Now sitting across from Anastasia, indulging her in polite conversation. He ripped his attention away from the pair momentarily to spear Nott with a sharp look.

"Is Malfoy stupid or simply ignorant of the fact that she is mine?"

Nott stared blindly for only a moment before responding, "My Lord, your… _disagreement_ with Lady Zabini...it…."

"Out with it Nott!" His voice was low but firm.

"My Lord, Lady Zabini is something of an anomaly for us pureblood men. She is not a member of the sacred twenty-eight, as her ancestry hails from Italy but she is inarguably pure. Probably more so than even Abraxas."

At the blond idiot's name, Tom turned his attention back to the pair, watching with open disgust as she laughed politely at something Malfoy had said.

"And what of it Nott, so she's a pureblood witch. I don't see how that makes her any less mine."

"My Lord," Nott tried again, the pale boy clearly trying to formulate how best to put whatever had him so worked up as to stumble over his words. "Unlike the other pureblood women our age, Lady Zabini has never entertained a traditional courtship. Her family does not uphold the traditions of Britain and so she's forged her own way."

Tom turned his full attention back to Nott, a sneer marring his face. "So she chose me, and why should she not. I wouldn't be fooled by the name I carry for the public. Do not be so quick to forget to whom you defer."

Nott ducked his head in a quick bow, "My Lord when Lady Zabini declared you two through it left her open to the pureblood court."

Nott looked up now, eyes beseeching as he tried to relay to his Lord precisely the situation that he now found himself in without angering the temperamental man.

"Malfoy is betrothed to a witch four years his senior. He should know better than to sniff around what is mine."

It was Mulciber that cut in before Tom's ire could spike anymore, Nott gave the burly man across from him a grateful look.

"Anastasia Zabini is a woman men would kill for My Lord. And she knows it. She is the only formally unattached pureblood witch our age, with a fortune as large as Malfoy's, if not larger and no family breathing down her neck about whom to court. She's brilliant and beautiful and _lethal._ With your informal claim on her, no one was brazen enough to try. There was just no telling where the chips may have fallen given her devotion to you. But now that she has declared herself free of you..." Mulciber's words trailed off as he stabbed at a piece of sausage.

"I would wager that Malfoy is simply the first in a long line of men willing to throw his betrothed to the side for the favour of Lady Zabini."

He felt dread settle heavy and hot in the pit of his stomach. He'd never taken the moment to look into her as he should have. He'd taken for granted that she was of foreign ancestry, had classified her as another pureblood girl, but one whom he could tolerate. He had never considered the power she could wield, the power she could give him. Would have given him.

Tom looked back to her now and was shocked to see her openly watching him. There was a hint of a devious smile curling her lips ever so slightly upward and Tom realised what she had clearly known all along, what this half smirk alluded to.

She was a kingmaker, and he'd traded her in for a romp with a pawn.


	3. You Are Mine

**A/N: So if you haven't noticed already this isn't a super fluffy feel-good piece. By virtue of this story being partially told in Tom's perspective, it is going to veer a little darker. The themes and ideas contained in this fic are not my endorsement of them but merely my exploration of these themes in fiction. This fic also immediately jumped rating so be warned, from here on out there will be much more mature content. Anywho, enough of me yammering.**

* * *

There wasn't a moment since Abraxas Malfoy had deemed it appropriate to insinuate himself in her presence that she hadn't felt the weight of Tom's stare on her person. Through their shared classes, at meals and even when Abraxas escorted her through the halls, Tom's eyes laid heavily upon her person. It had been a mere three days since it had become widely known that she and Tom were through and she was already inundated by letters and a few in-person requests regarding _the pleasure of her hand._ She scoffed inwardly, glancing to her right at the blond beside her. She was glad that it had been Malfoy that had approached her first. It made for smooth sailing where courting was concerned.

Abraxas was a well-bred gentleman. He never imposed himself on her if she didn't appear to want his company, never asked much of her and was always amenable to her whims; one such whim leading to their current position, side by side on the lush grass staring out at the Black Lake in the last vestiges of summer. It also didn't hurt that the blond was clearly not after her money. She smiled to herself.

"And what's got you beaming?"

His voice was as snooty as the day was long, but it was a small price to pay for the coverage he afforded her.

She turned her head to face him, taking note of how his gaze flicked to her lips briefly before focusing on her eyes again. Her smile widened into something bordering on predatory. _He was so easy._

"Just thinking about how handsome you are, of course." Her voice was demure, the smallest lilt of an Italian accent brushing the words.

He quirked a pale brow before a smirk claimed his face. "Is that so?"

_So easy._

"Mhmm." She bit her lip in a half-hearted attempt to conceal another smile.

_Poor Abraxas._

The blond took that as his cue to begin a monologue. What about she couldn't be bothered to discern. Her eyes drifted up to the castle walls, taking in what had been her home for the past seven years when her eye was caught on a lone figure standing at the castle doors, hands shoved in his pockets.

Her heart doubled in its beating. She'd know him anywhere. The way he held himself just so, as though it was only natural that he be there, that he commanded attention. Tom.

From this distance, she couldn't be sure that he was looking at her, but really, what else could he be looking at. She tore her gaze away from him in favour of looking out at the lake, counting the ripples closest to shore until she reached the centre. It would be foolish to let him affect her. It would be foolish to give in to a man that had no respect for her.

* * *

Number 97. Drowning. It surprised him that he hadn't considered that method of getting rid of the wealthy albino when he had insinuated himself into his and Anastasia's relationship. He'd had much more fun considering _several_ other means by which he could eviscerate the poncy man. He wondered idly as he watched Malfoy lean into _his_ woman what would be more satisfying; holding the platinum oaf down as water filled his lungs, feeling with his own hands as his body fought for much-needed air or if using magic would give him more fulfilment. He sneered. Anastasia did always say that he was an interesting duality. _A lion in sheep's clothes_ she had said. He'd assumed she'd meant that he was little better than a muggle parading as a wizard. She'd laughed in his face when he'd said just that with a threat of retribution in his voice should he find that she actually meant it.

"_Tom don't be silly. No one's saying you're parading around as anything. You __**are**_ _a wizard Tom, no one can take that away from you. But you're a muggle too. You grew up as one but you keep it hidden. And much like the lion hidden among the sheep, that can be dangerous if you don't know what you're looking for."_

He smiled. He knew it was one of the smiles that she didn't like. The ones he flashed when he was certain to follow up with pain and retribution. It was all sharp edges and barely contained mania. Abraxas certainly wouldn't be looking for him to drown him like a muggle. His little cascabel had always been perceptive.

When her head swivelled in his direction briefly he had to force himself to stay where he was. Drowning Abraxas in front of her would only make winning her back harder, so he stayed put. Although everything in him screamed at him to reclaim her. To give her her rightful place by his side. He'd have to satisfy himself with the knowledge that she was safe as he watched over her.

* * *

"Oh Tom, yes!"

The girl's incessant nattering was doing nothing for his erection. She bounced lazily on his cock, tossing her too red hair over one shoulder. He pulled out of her unceremoniously and shoved her off of him.

"What the fuck?

"Get on your hands and knees."

She immediately scrambled to oblige and Tom was hit with a wave of revulsion at how eager she was. Nothing at all like his Anastasia, no push back. The girl had barely gotten into position before he rammed himself in to the hilt.

"Tom!"

He clenched his teeth and fought back a snarl to get her to shut the fuck up, instead gripping her hips tightly and setting a brutal pace. The chit's litany of praises went largely ignored, instead, he focused on the feeling of her cunt on his cock. He fisted one hand in her hair, forcing her to arch her back and closed his eyes, imagining instead that it was Anastasia accepting him into her body, moaning for him. He lost himself in the thought of his beautiful Anastasia, displayed on her hands and knees just for him. Screaming his name, begging him for more. For pleasure that only he could give her. He was quickly nearing his release when he felt a too small hand trail up his chest. His eyes snapped to the offending appendage to see garishly painted nails against pale skin, the fantasy shattered. He looked into dull blue eyes and felt the heat of his anger lick at his chest. Who was this bitch to ruin his fantasy? He released her too straight hair in favour of pushing her face first into the mattress, his pace unrelenting. It didn't take long for him to finish after that.

He climbed off of her and stood in his recently repaired room in the heads dorm. Feeling the weight of his actions sink in. He'd defiled the bed that was just his and Anastasia's. Had allowed his frustration with his knights to lead him by the cock and now he'd ruined the place he'd kept sacred for when they eventually took that step in their relationship. He should have just fucked her in one of the empty classrooms. He was sure even that was more than the silly girl deserved.

"I'm going to wash you off of me. When I return I expect you to be gone."

He didn't spare her a backwards glance as he left the room. All he could think about was how he would be able to replace his bed for Anastasia.

* * *

Giggles behind cupped hands greeted him the following morning at breakfast from the Ravenclaw table and a few of the braver ones winked at him. When his eyes met Darlene's she flushed an unbecoming shade of peuce and Tom had to fight himself not to skin the girl alive. His eyes shifted and were drawn as if by magnets to Anastasia who was watching him intently. She stared at him long and hard as he stood there, not batting an eye in Abraxas' direction and his heart soared. He knew she was his. This was proof enough. A smug smile started to spread across his face as he watched her. So what if she was entertaining Abraxas' fancy? He knew she wouldn't sleep with the oaf so the little show she put on with the blond could be tolerated because she was his. The smile immediately fell when her eyes flickered from his to land on Darlene who he could see now was beginning to walk towards him. He looked back at Anastasia to see her raise one perfectly manicured brow at him before returning to indulging Abraxas in conversation.

It felt like he'd received the kiss. As if what remained of his very soul had been consumed by a dark being. She knew. He didn't know how but he was positive that she knew.

Darlene's too high voice dragged him from his stupor, "I had a really good time last night Tom."

How could this girl be so thick? Was he not clear when he'd left to shower that there was nothing to speak of between them? He peered down at her, feeling several pairs of eyes on him. Just what he fucking needed. An audience.

He simply turned away from the redhead girl and resumed his walk to the Slytherin table. There was nothing that he could say that would make any of it appear any better to Anastasia so what was the point? The sound of pitiful sobs assaulted his ears soon thereafter and he didn't have to turn to know that the pathetic girl was blubbering and making a scene about what had been pointless sex. At least Black had more discretion.

He was taken aback by the emotion reflected in Anastasia's eyes when he caught them for the second time that morning. It was something he'd never expected to see reflected at him. Not from her. Breaking eye contact she made her excuses to Malfoy and her few friends and left the great hall, her oversized puppy trotting obediently behind her.

Reflected in her eyes was unmistakable hatred.

* * *

It was only a matter of time before Malfoy retired to bed and left his witch unattended to read in front of the fire. It was a small tidbit he'd happened upon the night previous. It appeared that even his witch had a limit where the overstuffed pansy was concerned. He smiled. He'd be much more successful in persuading her if she was within arms reach. Despite all of her strength, he knew she held a soft spot for him. Something he was only too happy to abuse to his advantage.

He remained ensconced in the shadows of the common room for a moment longer, drinking her in. She'd let her tightly coiled hair down from today's coif and it sat like a fluffy cloud about her person. Her sensible loafers had been abandoned in favour of tucking her stocking clad feet beneath her. Her dark skin seemed to gleam in the light of the crackling fire. She was a vision. She was his.

Stepping out of the shadows, at last, he made great efforts to make as little noise as possible. Situating himself in her direct vicinity was the only way this would work. When finally he stood less than a foot away from her armchair he finally made his presence known, clearing his throat. Her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly but from all other appearances, she paid him no attention. He supposed it was what he deserved for defiling their sanctuary. He waited patiently. He was in no rush.

By his estimate it was about three minutes later when she looked up at him, neatly marking her place in her book before giving him her undivided attention.

She didn't speak, merely waited for him to say or do what he'd come there for. It was a pity the broad he'd taken the night before hadn't had similar restraint.

"You know that she meant nothing to me."

There was no need to begin with grovelling. She was aware that he was sorry. She had to have been. Why else would he continue to seek her out?

Nothing in her expression could prepare him for the sneer that marred her face. Transforming her easy beauty into something else.

_She's brilliant and beautiful and lethal. _It's what Mulciber had said. And for the first time since he'd known her, he thought he could see how the other man had come to that conclusion.

"What you do with your body is no concern of mine Riddle. There's no need for empty platitudes."

Her words were clipped and icy. Not a trace of the usual warmth that they held for him. Maybe she didn't know that he was sorry afterall. Did she not see that he only cared about getting her back?

"Anastasia you are mine. There is no-"

The derisive chuckle that tumbled from her lips cut him off. He could feel the telltale signs of his anger making themselves known.

"Yours?" Her voice was incredulous. As if the very idea was absurd. He bristled. He was dangerously close to lashing out at her. His limits when it came to her were far greater than those established for others, but there was only so much disrespect he could tolerate in the presence of others.

"I don't belong to anyone Riddle."

He shivered, a mix of unbridled rage and desire. Her accent often had a way of making itself known in her anger. It curled around her words, caressing the syllables deliciously. He felt his cock stir to life. The things this witch did to him.

"You _belong_ to me."

She scoffed, he continued, "You are mine witch. You are-"

Another laugh cut him off and he roared with barely contained anger, vision bleeding red, he leaned into her, hands digging into the supple leather of the chair's arm. "You know better than to cut me off my little cascabel." His voice was low and dangerous, a sibilance bleeding into them.

She flashed him a smile to rival his darkest. It was feral, a physical representation of her contempt. "Or what, _Tom_? Will you crucio me like you did Black? Or maybe you'll smack me about like a muggle like you do some of your _knights._"

He released the couch, taking a step back. "You know that I would never. I _could_ never harm you. Not truly."

Her smile turned deadly, the inky black of her irises seemed to bleed into the white. This was new.

"You may be deluded Riddle, but I suffer under no such qualms."

With that, she packed her items up and retreated to her dormitory. He didn't bother to try to delay her as she made her departure, too taken aback by what he'd just witnessed. It could have been a trick of the light, but he could have sworn that the whites of her eyes had bled black. He could practically taste her magic writhing in the air, dark and angry. He couldn't say that that had been an expected development.


	4. Break Me

**A/N: Forgive me if these next few chapters seem a bit choppy. I'm trying to portray the perspectives accurately but that doesn't necessarily lend itself to good chronological order. Sorrrryyy :D Sidenote: Plis review, they help so machhhhh.**

Walburga Black was as easy to get beneath him as he would have expected, had he given it a moment of thought. The girl's jealousy of her cousin was well known. So it hadn't come as much of a shock to him when she propositioned him as he made his way back to the heads dorms. Anastasia's little parlour trick with her eyes had only distracted him momentarily before his anger had consumed him once more. His cock throbbed at the thought of her. Who knew she could get so deliciously angry? The feral smile she'd given him coupled with that accent had been enough to have him rock hard. He'd resolved to relieve himself in the shower, in no hurry to further embroil himself in the silly machinations of women trying to trap him when Walburga had accosted him. There was no art or subtlety to her approach. She'd stepped in front of him in his distraction and spelled her blouse open. He made no move to approach or acknowledge her, he simply watched her, wondering if she'd actually follow through with whatever hairbrained plan she'd concocted. She didn't seem bothered by his lack of participation, slowly approaching him in what she must have thought was a sexy way. Her eyes never looked away from his and when finally she was a breath away from him he felt her warm hand palm his cock. He clenched his jaw in response, still refusing to give in to the stupid chit.

Her other hand snaked around his neck and into his hair tugging gently in a way that had him barely restraining a snarl. He knew he had miscalculated with Anastasia. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew there was a way to ensure that she came back to him. But in the haze of his anger and desire, he wasn't sure what that could be. Black's too big breasts were pressed up against his chest and she'd worked her hand into his trousers, lazily pumping him.

"It's after curfew Black, and I'm obliged to ask you to return to your dorms."

The hand slowly pumping him tightened to something exquisite and he released an involuntary hiss of satisfaction. She smirked. He saw red.

* * *

There was a little nagging voice in his mind telling him that he'd done something wrong. Had made an error somewhere along the line. He squashed the voice and the ridiculous thought with it, straightening his robes and hair. Walburga was still sprawled on the unforgiving stone floor, covered in the evidence of their rutting. He vanished it with a lazy flick of his wand. It wouldn't do to leave the foolish girl with any ideas.

He didn't bother to close the door to the old alchemy classroom as he left. It wasn't his problem. He felt sated in a way that masturbation just never achieved. How fortunate for him that Black had thought it appropriate to proposition him. The clarity of mind that came after a good rut was shattered as he entered his private dorms; one thought came screeching into the front of his mind. He'd fucked Walburga Black barely a week after things had blown up with Anastasia as a result of Lucretia. There was no way that Anastasia wouldn't know about this. With the dark-skinned girl sharing a room with the cousins Black it was virtually guaranteed. His anger returned renewed. He'd no doubt just made things impossibly harder for himself.

* * *

Weeks had passed since his dalliance with both Black and Darlene and she wouldn't even look at him, wouldn't glance by him, her eyes were either on Malfoy or steadfastly affixed to a position where there was no way she'd accidentally see him. On her shoes, in a book even on the fucking floor. He wanted to scream. Wanted to hurt something, anything; even himself, if it meant that she was looking at him. But he stayed his hand and she steadfastly ignored him. And he lost himself to the darkness.

* * *

She'd had no idea that her heart could be broken so many times. Tom had certainly remedied that. Word of his latest dalliance had reached her ears early the next morning. Nasty words exchanged between the Blacks was often _quite_ the source of information. Today she wished she'd foregone her eavesdropping.

"_I see why you kept Tom such a secret Lucretia, he's quite the animal in bed."_

_Lucretia scoffed, "You expect me to believe that he took you to his chambers? I'm sure he fucked you on some classroom floor like the common whore you are Wally."_

_The sound of skin against skin rang out in the quiet of the dorm._

"_You're always so despicable!" Walburga screeched._

"_So he did fuck you on a classroom floor then. Typical, Wally."_

She'd silenced her drawn curtains after that, no desire to hear the two bickering girls nor for them to hear her barely muffled sobs. It made no sense harbouring feelings for Tom. He was cruel and selfish and no amount of love or devotion that she'd shown him had ever been able to change that.

When finally her tears abated she cast a glamour to hide the evidence of her sorrow and made a quick retreat to the bathroom. A cursory glance around the dorm had shown that the others had all left for breakfast.

The tears began anew once she stood under the scalding spray. No matter how she twisted it she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around how she'd meant so very little to him. Seven years she'd spent cultivating what little compassion there was in him. Had given so much of herself to him and for what? She considered briefly if his betrayal was a result of her not sharing her body with him but dismissed the thought as soon as it came. If his loyalty was conditional upon her being physically intimate with him it would only be a matter of time before he decided that he needed something else to fulfil him as well. It was a hard truth to face but the harsh reality was that she hadn't meant as much to him as he had to her.

The weight of Tom's gaze felt more intrusive than usual that morning. It was pathetic really. She'd never garnered so much of his undivided attention before. She refused to acknowledge him. Instead, she did something she hadn't truly given any prior thought. She indulged Abraxas. She listened attentively when he spoke, despite her first impulse to tune out his overdone drawl and found that he was surprisingly charming. There was a wicked wit he employed that she'd never really noticed. It wasn't really fair to Abraxas, to use him like this. First as a cover and now a distraction from the very real problem that was Tom Riddle but she found that it was preferable to the alternative.

* * *

Days crawled by at a syrupy pace. If Abraxas noticed the shift in her demeanour he was too much of a gentleman to point it out. He'd flashed her a winning smile and kissed the back of her hand when she'd asked him to sit with her in the library. _Anything for you, cara mia._ His Italian was awful but it brought a genuine smile to her lips nonetheless. He was trying.

She glanced at him for the first time in the hours that they'd been cooped up in a little nook of the library. His hair was tousled from repeated passes with his long fingers and his head bobbed as he struggled to stay awake. Silver eyes snapped to hers as she giggled, the faintest rose blush staining his high cheeks.

"My apologies Anastasia, it wasn't my intention to leave you unattended."

Her head tilted of its own volition as she regarded him a genuine smile playing at her lips. His cheeks seemed to darken further. I

"There's no need for you to apologize Abraxas if anything it should be me offering you apologies. I'm sure you'd much rather be on your broom than holed up in here with me."

"Posh." It was said with a dismissive wave of his hand and she couldn't help her response if she tried.

"I know you are but what am I?"

His eyes seemed to darken, the light silver becoming a dark slate.

"You, Anastasia, are beautiful."

She knew she was blushing, she could feel the prickly heat of it crawling up her neck and could only hope that Abraxas would take her hurried glance down as a deflection and not the girlish flirting that it obviously was. She didn't want to hurt him, useful distraction or not.

Her eyes widened as she looked back up to find him leaning much closer. The grey of his eyes sparkled mischievously in the dim light of the library and her eyes quickly dropped to his plump pink lips.

"I think that I should quite like to kiss you, Anastasia."

He was asking for her permission, hovering just within reach in case she should deny him. Her eyes met his again and when she gave the slightest nod she saw him flash a quick smile before his lips met hers.

The kiss was slow and playful, his lips every bit as soft as she had imagined they'd be. He made no move to deepen the kiss, seemingly content with the contact she allowed. After a few moments, he pulled back, a happy little smile tilting the left side of his lips. Her heart hammered in her chest, he was undeniably handsome but it was this boyish smile, the result of the sweetest kiss she'd ever had that made her realise that Abraxas Malfoy was a man she could easily lose herself in.

She cleared her throat and busied her hands with flipping absently through her book. So caught up was she in appearing unphased that she missed the way that crooked little smile morphed into a contented grin and the pair of startlingly red eyes that watched them from the shadows.

* * *

They were lounging lazily by the lake once more, ensconced in the warmth of a heating charm as fall began to make itself known, the trees a vision of orange and browns. She carded her fingers through Abraxas' ridiculously soft blond hair while the man in question was practically purring like a contented kneazle, head propped up on her lap and eyes lazily closed. A smile graced her lips, she was equally as soothed by the slightly intimate gesture as Abraxas clearly was. Being with him felt so easy. It dulled the pain of letting Tom go to something that was easily ignored in favour of Abraxas' affection.

"This should be illegal." He drawled.

She laughed. He really was far too dramatic, but she found she minded less and less the more time she spent with him.

"I could stop you know," she teased, slowly disentangling her fingers from his hair. His hand quickly grabbed hers before she could fully remove it, silver eyes snapping open to level her with a petulant glare.

"Don't you dare."

Grinning at him she let her free hand fall to her lap.

"Oops."

"You will pay for that witch."

He moved faster than she thought possible, springing to his feet and snatching her from the ground.

She squeaked when he unceremoniously lifted her into the air, her feet far too high off the ground for her liking. "Put me _down Abraxas." _It came out as more of a breathy laugh than a command and as she looked down at that crooked little smile she knew she was in trouble. If she wasn't careful she could very easily fall for him.

"As the lady requests."

She felt herself falling before a strong pair of hands tightened right beneath her bum. She shoved him gently and the boyish smile she'd grown to love spread into a large grin.

"Stop trying to cop a feel and put me _down, _you great oaf!" Her tone held none of the venom of her words and he chuckled good-naturedly.

His arms readjusted to rest gently at her hips once her feet were firmly planted on the earth once more. He smiled down at her, bringing one hand up to gently cup her jaw.

"You can't blame a man for trying."

She rolled her eyes. His teasing words didn't fool her, he'd sooner eat his own shoes than try to feel her up. That much had been abundantly clear through the course of their courtship. Arrogant snob though he was Abraxas Malfoy was a saint among men when it came to his treatment of women.

He was leaning no closer than he had been before, apparently content to simply hold her close. Eyes dancing with barely contained mirth.

Hands still resting on his chest, she snaked them up to play with the baby-fine hairs at his nape.

"Don't you want to kiss me Abraxas?" her teasing words were soft, meant to elicit the very mischievous glint that appeared in his eyes.

"Mayhaps." he offered, his grip on her waist tightening before his head dipped forward.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she tilted her head upwards in anticipation of his soft lips meeting hers. His warm breath ghosted over her face.

"I could stop you know."

Her eyes snapped open to see that the mischievous glint was now accompanied by a wicked little smirk. Lifting herself onto her toes she pulled his face down to close the distance between them. It was completely unlike the handful of kisses they'd shared so far. There was nothing sweet or demure about the way she kissed him.

She kissed him like a woman starved, nipping at his lips and tugging at his hair. The needy groan that slipped from his lips as their tongues met was nearly her undoing. He tasted sweet. Like honey and cinnamon, no doubt from the ridiculous quantity of tea he insisted on drinking and she was lost to the sensations he evoked. He let her dictate the pace of the kiss for a moment longer before the hand at her jaw tangled in her loose hair and tilted her head back for better access. There was no stopping the wanton moan that tore itself from her throat as he plundered her mouth and she surrendered to him completely. His hand never strayed from its position on her hip, he never crushed her to his body, imposing his physical desire on her. Instead, he contented himself with taking all that she gave freely and her heart soared at the realisation.

When finally they broke apart she was greeted by that crooked smile that never failed to set her heart racing.

"You should be illegal."


	5. Prince Charming

The first day of the Hogsmeade weekend found the pair of them walking leisurely through the village, arm in arm. So wrapped up was she in their little bubble that she didn't notice the pair of men that stepped into their path. She snickered at something Abraxas had said, watching as a faint blush tinted his cheeks. His head was ducked in a feeble attempt to mask his embarrassment.

"Well isn't this _sweet._"

Her heart slammed into her rib cage before stopping altogether. _Tom._ Her eyes remained trained on Abraxas, unsure of how he'd react to the intrusion. Abraxas' cheeky smile turned into a lazy grin, his countenance becoming every bit the aristocrat she knew him to be.

"Lord Mulciber, Mister Riddle." He greeted, taking no small measure of joy in the small rib at Tom's station. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Tom's face was decidedly blank but his eyes screamed retribution. Finally meeting his eyes was every bit as painful as she'd thought it would be. All of the feelings she'd carefully avoided rushed to the fore and she suddenly felt crushed by their weight.

"Anastasia, I should like to have a word."

It wasn't a request, it was a demand, and that he had been bold enough to do so in front of Abraxas did not sit well with her.

"I'm sure there's nothing for us to discuss, Riddle. All that need have been said between us has been said. You were quite clear and though I must confess that my intellect is far inferior to yours, I assure you my understanding of our chats is crystal."

She gripped Abraxas' hand that much tighter when Tom's eyes flashed blood red. She wondered if Abraxas had noticed.

"I see."

His eyes raked over her face, cataloguing Merlin knew what before they landed on hers and Abraxas' linked hands. When his eyes flicked back to hers they were decidedly empty. Any ire he still felt was carefully concealed. She'd be lying if she said it didn't make her weary. Violent Tom she understood, he was a tangible destructive force that twisted the very air around him. Sulking Tom, though infrequent in visits was also easy to identify and handle. Even happy Tom, which sometimes bled into what could only be described as mania she was confident in saying she understood. But this Tom, the one that wore an apathetic mask, whose almost black eyes gave nothing away, he made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. And for the first time since she'd known him, she could admit to herself that she was afraid of him.

* * *

Every time he saw them together he tortured someone. It was as simple as that. It wasn't nearly as effective as a good fuck in clearing his mind but it would do. Anastasia was making it abundantly clear that sex with other women no matter how meaningless would only drive her further away and it had been plenty long since she'd been by his side. No, he wouldn't sleep with any of the filthy women that threw themselves willingly at him. Anastasia was right, he was above that, only she would do. So he'd do what he had to to ease the tension. Even if it meant stripping those lesser of their sanity. Their sacrifice would all be worth it. He would get her back.

* * *

She was snuggled up in a large pile of fluffy transfigured blankets in the stands of the quidditch pitch on the final day of the Hogsmeade weekend, watching as Abraxas flew in lazy circles around the pitch. There was nothing anyone could say that would get her on a broom, but she didn't mind watching others do it.

Burrowing further into the downy comfort of the blankets, her eyes fluttered close in contentment. This wasn't a half-bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

"How will you see my amazing skills on a broom if you're asleep?"

Keeping her eyes firmly shut, she didn't fight the smile that spread across her face.

"Average at best, I'd say."

"Cheeky witch."

Meeting his eyes she saw that he was smiling at her as he lay across his broom which hovered far too many feet above the ground.

"Your faith in that twig is preposterous, Abraxas. Truly."

He scoffed, genuinely affronted by her slight, "_TWIG?_"

She snickered, "If your voice gets any higher a fairy may just come along and take you as a mate."

Glowering at her, he straightened himself on the broom before dismounting gracefully. She tilted her head back to continue to look him in the eye and she was struck by how beautiful he truly was. He was all sharp angles and pale beauty. She wondered idly if at any point his family had descended from angels and suppressed a shiver at the thought.

She licked her lips as he bent, bringing them eye to eye.

"I'd never do that to you, princess."

Her nose wrinkled at the monicker, and he laughed before leaning in to capture her lips in a sweet kiss. When he tried to pull away she tangled her fingers in his windswept hair, tugging him closer.

Breaking the kiss he drew in a ragged breath, eyes closed and jaw clenching. "If you keep that up, I'll have no choice but to crawl under those blankets with you."

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea," she said softly.

His eyes cracked open to consider her.

"I promise I won't steal your virginity Abraxas," she said jokingly, hoping to get a laugh out of him or to at least be treated to that crooked smile. Instead, his cheeks flushed a deep pink and he averted his gaze though he didn't pull away.

To say that she was stunned would be the understatement of the year. "You're a virgin?" She asked gently. It wouldn't do to have him think she was mocking him.

Swallowing thickly he replied with a simple yes.

Running her hands through his hair in an attempt to break the tense silence that had stretched between them she responded. "Good, we're a pair."

His body seemed to sag with relief at her statement and she snickered at his expense. "Well Abraxas, shall you join me? I promise I don't bite."

Pausing for effect she waited until his eyes met hers again, "Unless you want me to."

He groaned as he clambered under the blankets with her. "You will be the death of me witch."

* * *

They were tucked away inside of the library again, he with his head in her lap, her fingers carding through his hair as she read. And she was, content. In fact, she'd go as far as to say that she was happy. Peering down at the blond boy she could see that he was dozing lightly. She smiled to herself. This certainly wasn't how she had thought things would go.

Abraxas was just meant to be a cover. A convenient way for her to finish up her last days at Hogwarts. She'd never considered that she could end up developing feelings for him, fledgeling though they were. He seemed like precisely the type of boy she'd be expected to date for her station and it chuffed her more than she'd like to admit that she had just become a stereotype.

Her hands stilled as she contemplated the implications of falling for Abraxas. There was no way she was ready to be married to him. Charming as he was she just wasn't ready. The list of things she wanted to accomplish before she was ready to tie herself to someone else forever wasn't long but it was still hers and if she was being frank seventeen seemed a bit young to be talking about forever with someone. Anyone really.

And what type of husband would Abraxas even be should they get to that stage? From what she knew of him he was ever the traditionalist. Would he expect her to be the typical pureblood wife? Seen and not heard, demure and ever deferent to her husband? Did he want children? Did she?

The wild spiralling of her thoughts was broken by a gentle touch to her cheek. She was surprised to see that he'd awoken and was watching her carefully.

"What's got you so stressed, princess?"

Her nose wrinkled at the name and he smiled lazily in response.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"And yet it's a most fitting title." His eyes were serious though the smile remained. "You're deflecting."

It wasn't a question but he didn't push her for more answers. It was something she quite liked about Abraxas. No matter the circumstance, he never made demands of her. Sighing she considered how much of the truth she was willing to divulge. How much would be beneficial?

"I hadn't expected our courtship to take such a turn." She said, watching closely for his reaction.

To his credit there barely was one, but she didn't miss the subtle look of hurt that seemed to flash across his face.

"I see."

She wasn't sure that he did.

Her hands resumed their gentle journey through his fine hair and along his scalp. "You've never so much as looked at me with more than a passing glance before Tom and I separated. You were also betrothed to another up until rather recently." She paused smiling sadly, "Not that I was much better."

Closing her eyes she continued, before the regret in his beautiful grey eyes was too much for her to bare. "And now, that we're here, I."

It was all or nothing, now or never. It was better for this whirlwind romance to die a quick death here in the library where they'd been happily drawing comfort from each other than for it to continue on a false sense of potential. Sometimes she truly made a terrible Slytherin.

"I'm not sure if this is something that could work." Her voice was small, timider than she'd heard it in some time and her hands stilled once again. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Didn't want to see the pity reflected in those grey eyes. She'd gotten a glimpse of it just moments before as she laid herself bare. Confronting the full force of his regret at her one-sided feelings would surely end her and so she looked away.

He was quiet for a long time after that, and she steadfastly ignored the way it made her heart clench painfully. How had this man, this arrogant, selfish, beautiful man come to mean so much to her in a few short weeks? She knew she wasn't over Tom, not completely, no matter how much he had hurt her getting over the residual feelings proved quite difficult. Yet Abraxas had cultivated for himself his place in her heart. A place that was quickly growing like a wild vine, shunting to the side what she felt for Tom.

When finally he spoke again his voice was softer somehow and she steeled herself for the rejection that was sure to come. It had been foolish of her to develop feelings for him. Clearly, they had been on the same page to start. An engagement of convenience. But somewhere along the line she had fucked things up, had gotten wires crossed and now she had jeopardized their arrangement and her heart in the process.

"The only thing that would stop me from trying to make this work is you."

She didn't dare breathe, didn't want to break the tenuous hold she had on her emotions. He couldn't mean it.

"I admit that I never pined for you like some lovestruck schoolboy but I have noticed you, Anastasia. How could I not? I never thought I would have a chance and I am nothing if not self-preserving, so I played the best card to suit my hand."

Her heart was teetering on the precipice of another heartbreak. This could go either way and she hated herself for hoping that he'd feel the same. That this was something they could give into. That she could surrender herself to him. The feeling of his hand cupping her jaw to tilt her face down to his sent her heart aflutter.

The smile he gave her when their eyes met was nothing short of beautiful. She was in trouble. "But now that I do have that chance Anastasia, you'd be hard-pressed to get me to let you go."

"I don't want to be some socialite bride that you keep tucked away except when you require the publicity."

"Are you proposing?" He asked wiggling his brows.

"Abraxas I'm serious."

"As am I. We're courting, Anastasia and while I don't want to let you go marriage is still a ways off."

She frowned, conflicted. On the one hand grateful that he seemed to be in no rush to the altar but on the other hand it did not sit well with her that he seemed to brush over her concerns about what it would be like to be married to him.

The gentle back and forth of his thumb over her jaw made her aware that her frown had morphed into a grimace and she forced her face to relax.

"When we get to that stage Anastasia, and I take you as my wife, I want you as you are. So if you don't want to host charity balls and galas don't. Some other rich man's bride will do it. Besides," he said, as a sneaky little grin twisted his lips, "princesses never plan their parties."

"Abraxas!" She cried with mock outrage as he snickered good-naturedly.

He settled back into her lap, eyes drifting closed, apparently pleased with the result of their conversation and she allowed herself a moment to bask in what they could have.


	6. You

She was going to kill him. She was going to string Abraxas Malfoy up by his no doubt well-manicured toes and flay him alive. How dare he? Storming down to the common room, she found him chatting amicably with a few other seventh years. His eyes snapped up to meet her, the smile she loved so much twisting his lips upwards before they flattened into the closest semblance of fear she'd seen from him. Good.

"What is the meaning of this _Lord Malfoy_?" The Italian accent curled around her words in a way that she knew spoke volumes about her anger. She paid no heed to the others in the common room, her focus solely on Abraxas.

In any other circumstance, she probably would have found his visible skittishness quite humorous. But at this point in time, the mirth in the moment escaped her.

"Anastasia," he hedged, approaching her slowly much like one would a cornered thestral. "I think perhaps this is a conversation best had in private." At his final word, he gave her clothing a pointed look. Well, he could go to the final circle of hell if he thought she would be cowed out of this conversation because she was in pyjamas. As though on cue a plaintive little mew issued from her shoulder and her face was nuzzled by a much smaller much furrier one.

"Abraxas." It was a warning that inspired a small measure of fear to taint his eyes but he seemed unrepentant about his apparent need for privacy.

When he gently touched her waist in what she assumed was supposed to be a reassuring manner she pulled away, levelling him with an icy glare before she stomped out of the room. Abraxas issued a shaky sigh as he followed.

As soon as the door to the adjacent classroom closed behind them she whirled to face him, the little black kitten perched on her shoulder mewed its displeasure.

"Abraxas."

He ran a hand through his hair and peered down at her. Suddenly the fact that he was a clear head taller than her grated on her nerves.

"It's a familiar." He tried lamely.

"I gathered." She would not make this easy for him. His presumptuousness apparently knew no bounds.

He sighed again, running a hand over his face. "I thought girls liked it when you bought them thoughtful gifts." He muttered.

The air around them crackled dangerously and the tiny kitten hid itself if the shelter of her hair. "Not only am I so low in your estimation that you consider me to be one of these _girls_ that you refer to so casually but you think it was _thoughtful _to give me a life to care for?" Her tone was icy, none of the warmth they had cultivated in the past few weeks seemed to be there.

"I - Anastasia, that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?" It has been phrased as a question but they both knew it was a demand. She wanted answers. Now. And if she didn't get the type she wanted he would be _most_ regretful.

He approached slowly once more, cautious as the very air around them became charged with her barely contained magic. This time he reached up to cup her face instead, relief flooding his silvery eyes when she didn't pull away.

"It's a courtship gift. It was my intention to show you how much you mean to me. Familiars are not well understood in the wizarding world but the old families know that a familiar can complement a witch's magic."

He tentatively placed a kiss on her forehead before leaning back to regard her once more. "I meant you no disrespect cara mia."

Her lip twitched of its own accord at his terrible Italian. The man truly was a menace to the language. Clearly, it didn't escape his notice as he smiled tentatively down at her. "Do you ever think you could forgive me?"

They both started when an unexpected purr rumbled through her. Abraxas chuckled. "I think it's safe to say that she's imprinted."

"I'm still mad at you."

"I know."

* * *

Loathe as she was to admit it, the tiny kitten had grown on her. Quickly. There wasn't a time that she wasn't in class when it didn't find a way to be perched on her person. One day Anastasia had found her wandering the hallways of the dungeon, clearly lost, mewling for help. She'd scooped her up and scolded her half-heartedly, the reproachful words dying in her throat when the little black ball of fur had nuzzled into her face and licked her nose in what she assumed was an apology.

She'd given all of her housemates that were present upon her arrival to the common room quite the tongue lashing for their negligence, with little Ophelia perched on her shoulder the whole while. It always managed to surprise her that she and the kitten were so in tune, to the point where she could tell that from her place on her shoulder during her dressing down of the Slytherins that Ophelia was feeling quite smug indeed.

It was one of the rare moments when barely anyone was in the common room. The two of them and Abraxas were currently lounging by the fire in the common room, Abraxas sprawled across the couch, his hand curled possessively around her waist while she was sat on the floor entertaining Ophelia with a toy mouse she'd animated with her wand. His fingers were drawing lazy circles on her ribs and she'd never felt happier.

Abraxas had been virtually insufferable when he'd noticed that she and Ophelia had bonded. His knowing little smirk when she gently placed Ophelia on her preferred perch did not go unnoticed. He'd kissed her soundly when she'd stuck her tongue out at him in a petulant response. Ophelia had nuzzled against their linked faces and Abraxas had smirked. Anastasia's response was to poke him in the ribs and trot away with her little ball of mischief in tow.

She let her head fall back to rest on the hard planes of his stomach.

"Why don't you let your hair down, princess?"

She didn't bother to let her displeasure with the name be known, she simply responded. "You could take it down for me."

His expression darkened to something bordering on hungry, "I don't think we're there yet, princess."

They'd been dancing around the matter of becoming more intimate than their heated kisses and tame petting for a few days now and she'd be lying if she said that the thought of provoking him to the point where he lost some of his very tightly held control didn't appeal to her. She twisted her body so that her cheek was flush with his abdomen and watched him from hooded eyes.

"Is that right?" her voice was low and she watched with rapt attention as he swallowed thickly. Fighting the good fight with his self-control. Turning her head a bit more she placed a featherlight kiss on the small strip of exposed flesh on his abdomen. She felt his sharp inhale as she placed tiny open-mouthed kisses along the strip, the game with Ophelia long since forgotten. Looking up she saw that his nails were digging into the couch, his knuckles white and eyes firmly shut.

"Abraxas."

The tortured groan he bit back as a response made her smile. Reaching the dip of his hips she began a long slow lick across the exposed flesh.

"Holy fuck, witch."

She placed another kiss just below his navel, "Abraxas."

His eyes were open now and there was only the thinnest rim of silver present, his pupils blown wide. His chest heaved, his hair tousled on his head. She wanted to devour him.

"Anastasia we should stop."

She used her nose to nudge his shirt higher on his abdomen, dropping another careless kiss on his heated skin. This was reckless, she knew but she was high on the power she now wielded over him.

Her eyes raised to meet his, voice low. "I want you Abraxas." Her cheeks were on fire. What had possessed her to voice that thought?

Releasing the couch he sat up, lowering his shirt and causing her to sit up in the process.

"Go to bed, Anastasia."

His voice was hard, brooking no argument and she immediately felt so stupid. Here she was acting like a wanton whore and he didn't even want to sleep with her.

Scooping up her wand and Ophelia she scrambled to her feet, the toy mouse forgotten on the floor. The tears were pricking the back of her eyes. She needed to leave. Immediately.

His hand reached blindly for hers and she tried to yank herself away, needing to escape. "Anastasia."

Steeling herself she set her jaw and held Ophelia close. She wouldn't cry in front of him. She'd clearly misunderstood. He'd seemed like he'd wanted her like he was enjoying himself. Then he'd banished her to bed. Probably to go sate himself with some other witch.

She tried to pull away from him again, anger quickly consuming her sorrow, burning her up until it was all she knew. "Let. Me. Go Abraxas."

"Anastasia-"

His words were cut off by the loud crack that resounded through the common room. Her anger was bleeding into her eyes, twisting around her magic. The fear that coloured his eyes as he saw her for what she really was was almost as painful as his initial rejection. He'd dropped her hand and made no further move to restrain her. Just as well she supposed. The tremors that wracked Ophelia's little body finally broke her attention from the blond before her. Her heart threatened to stop as she considered that maybe she'd scared the little kitten.

Small slitted green eyes met Anastasia's and she started to shake again while reaching out a paw to place on her mistress's cheek. She was purring. Ophelia was trying to comfort her. Her anger receded suddenly and a broken sob escaped her lips. It seemed that this little kitten was here for the long haul. At least someone was.

"Anastasia."

It was clear that he was trying to hide his fear and the realization made her feel sick to her stomach. He didn't want her, not really. None of them did.

She left for her room and he never tried to stop her.

* * *

Rumours of her outburst spread quickly through the house with varying degrees of truth. In one retelling she'd grown wings and threatened Abraxas' life. In another, she'd transformed into an actual banshee. All hogwash mixed in with snippets of what had actually occurred. In the end, it didn't matter, none of them had a chance of guessing the truth.

Abraxas waited for her at the entrance to the common room the next morning. She would ignore all of his attempts to talk to her. She didn't care. This was all just an arrangement anyway. At least that's what she told herself as his silver eyes sought hers out. No matter how imploring they appeared she needed to remember what had happened. He didn't want her.

Her silence didn't seem to deter him much to her begrudging appreciation. He sat dutifully by her during her meals, walked her to and from classes, nothing had changed. Except it all had. She couldn't bring herself to look at him for very long. She'd remember the way his knuckles had turned white as he had gripped the couch, how he'd rasped her name like a prayer on the lips of a dying man and finally how he'd shrank away from her once he saw all of her.

There was no dawdling in the common room, no excursion to their usual haunts. She made her way into the common room, called for Ophelia and disappeared behind her door.

* * *

He was faced with the very real possibility of losing her after realizing that he truly wanted her. Anastasia Zabini was unlike any pureblood woman he'd ever met and it thrilled him. She didn't primp beyond what was seen as strictly necessary. There was no sniping at other girls in a bid for male attention, no talks of finding a husband, none of it. She was content to spend an afternoon outside watching him fly or sitting with him by the lake as he prattled on about his plans for after school. She was uncharacteristically caring for a Slytherin until she was crossed and she gave herself so freely once she found you worthy.

He'd finally achieved it somehow, wormed his way into her good graces and then it was gone. The orb that had ensconced them in a warm glow had been shattered and now it was even worse than when they'd started courting. She wouldn't even look at him. The rumour mill was running rampant. Apparently she was a vampire, apparently, she was a banshee. He knew better. They at least needed to talk.

On the third day of his excommunication, he decided to pull her aside. Apart from a stiffening of her posture and clenching of her jaw she'd made no protest as he hid them away from prying eyes in an old classroom. As soon as she'd made it beyond the threshold she'd ripped her arm away and ensured there was a large valley of distance between them. It made him feel physically ill.

Her gaze was trained just to the left of his head. She didn't trust him enough not to keep an eye on him but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of looking at him.

"How long has your family held the favour of the fae?" There, he'd asked, there was no turning back now.

To her credit she betrayed nothing. She blinked absently at the wall as if he hadn't even spoken. Several minutes passed and still, she said nothing, eyes trained beyond him.

"I have no desire to expose you, Anastasia, I want to help."

Still nothing, not even a wayward twitch.

Sighing he tried a different route. "Anastasia I care for you."

He wasn't prepared for the full intensity of her stare. It was colder than he knew her capable of being. No hint of the fondness he often saw reflected there remained.

"Don't."

Nothing further came as she considered him. He figured she'd look away after a while but found he was now trapped under the full weight of her gaze. He didn't know which was worse.

Taking a step in her direction he attempted to close some of the distance, the air crackled dangerously around them. Bracing himself he took another slow step in her direction. The air seemed to burn the closer he got to her, as though suffused with acid.

Still, she watched him, expression relaxed, eyes dead. There wasn't a hint of black bleeding from the centre. She was very much in control of her emotions, which meant this, was a warning.

Another step brought them much closer together, he could grab her if he wanted to if he dared. There was something that was slowly growing brighter to the right of her person. Breaking their gaze he looked down to her right hand and watched with growing fascination as a whip made of what could only be pure magic seemed to materialize in her grasp.

When his eyes met hers again he swallowed thickly. If he wasn't careful there was a very real chance that he would be maimed. It would be easy for her to kill him. If that's what she wanted it would just take an errant flick of her wrist and he'd be powerless to stop her from ending him.

"The Malfoys, we," his words died on his tongue her eyes had briefly flashed completely white before settling on their usual brown. Clenching his jaw he continued. "We are favoured in the Seelie Court." A moment passed between them fraught with tension when the magic in the room subsided abruptly.

Another moment of tense silence finally passed before she spoke again, "Well then I suppose it's a good thing that nothing ever came of us."

It felt like he'd been slapped and he stumbled back as though physically wounded.

"Anastasia, I would never betray you. I swear it."

"You can keep your worthless promises Lord Malfoy, I have no need for them."

He wasn't Abraxas anymore, not to her. He'd been reduced to another Lord. Just another man with money and a title.

"I'm willing to swear on my magic Anastasia, being favoured by the court isn't what's important. I just wanted you to know that I-I understand. My family could switch. I would never-"

"Yes Lord Malfoy, I'm sure there's plenty you'd never do."

"What?"

A pregnant pause between them. Her features morphed into a feral snarl. He didn't know what exactly about that question had inspired such venom.

"Don't act _dumb_ Malfoy it doesn't suit you." She took a ragged breath before she ploughed on, "It's fine that you don't want me _Malfoy_, but you don't get to have both. You don't get me to flash to your friends and some whore to fuck. If a farce of a courtship is what you want while you screw whoever you want fine. But you don't get to make me love you and _fuck_ someone else."

He was stunned. It was too much. She thought he was sleeping around? Where on earth could she have gotten that idea? The hope that bloomed white-hot and crippling in his chest eclipsed all other thoughts. But she also said. ...Did she say that she loved him?

The words were on loop in his mind. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. It was all he could think of. He had no idea how long he stood there staring at her with a dumb expression on his face as he tried to grapple with her half confession but it had clearly been too long. Before he could formulate a response she'd stormed from the room.

She loved him.

It was still a few minutes more before he could convince his body that he needed to move. He needed to go. To find her. If she loved him all of this was salvageable, no matter the misunderstanding.

He flung open the door ready to rush to the common room when he came face to face with Tom Riddle. The last thing he saw before his world was swallowed by pain and he succumbed to the darkness was the genuine joy on the head boy's face.

* * *

It was her fault that Malfoy was in the hospital wing. If she'd left the blond's side long enough for him to have a quick word he wouldn't have had to take such drastic measures. Wouldn't have had to curse the bumbling idiot. He watched with growing disgust, disillusioned in the corner of the hospital wing, as she gently brushed the buffoon's hair from his brow. How she used her very own handkerchief to gently dab the beads of sweat from his forehead. It was when she took his hand in hers, the albino's pale skin against her own that Tom decided to make his presence known.

"I wouldn't have had to do this if you'd just speak to me, Anastasia."

Still, she refused to look at him, eyes trained on her lap where her thumb rubbed small circles over Abraxas'.

"Do not use me as an excuse for your cruelty. There's nothing I've ever done that has swayed you one way or the other."

Her head tilted up slightly and he held his breath, hoping that finally, the weeks he'd spent shut out from her had come to an end but it was for nought. She turned to look back at Malfoy, seemingly content to hold his hand as she watched over him.

"That's not true, Anastasia. You know it isn't." His voice was soft, pleading. He'd had enough of this isolation from her. He just wanted back in. Wanted her back, if it was finally time to grovel then so be it.

"Whatever you say, Tom."

He was surprised that her use of his given name didn't inspire the warmth in him that it usually did. Her use of it felt hollow. Mechanical. There was a long silence, she watching Malfoy and he her.

"You could have killed him." Her voice was small, and he struggled to keep the contempt he felt for her caring about Malfoy out of his response.

"But I didn't."

A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the soft sounds of Abraxas' breaths.

"He almost didn't make it."

It had sounded more as if she were talking to herself but he responded anyway. "And yet, here he lays with you to fawn over him."

The silence that spread between them was uncomfortable and wrought with tension

"What do you want, Tom?" The resignation in her voice was clear and he felt no small measure of joy at its implications.

"You."


	7. A Rock & A Hard Place

**A/N: Hello everyone, long time no see. I've been bitten by the writing bug again so here I am with a new offering. I'm gearing up for the Tom POV takeover, never fear. I just need to lay the foundation for that to happen. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. As always reviews are very much appreciated :)**

* * *

Abraxas' recovery was slow and delicate. Whatever Tom had done to him had left him an inch shy of death's door and his body was taking the long road to recovery. She stood at the very edge of the curtained room, pain lancing her heart as she watched the subtle rise and fall of Abraxas' white-clad chest. He'd gotten even paler, if possible, his flaxen hair stark in the light of the moon. Her hands itched to smooth it from his face. To cradle his jaw in her hands and feel his soft skin.

As if sensing her thoughts the arm around her waist tightened, it's hold robbing her of breath.

Tom was never far away these days, his hot breath stirring the hair by her neck. The possessive hold he kept her in served as a reminder that she was powerless to his desires. And without her compliance, he desired Abraxas dead. The thought coupled with the sight of his nearly lifeless body was a punch to the gut. She'd done this to him. It was her fault that this beautiful, headstrong man was barely clutching at life. She shouldn't have put him in Tom's path. She'd known better.

But somehow she'd let herself forget.

* * *

She was there days later when Abraxas had opened his eyes again for the first time since his attack. It must have been some cosmic joke that on that very night Tom had decided to hold court with his knights. The dark boy had become quite comfortable with his claim on her. With Abraxas incapacitated and Anastasia once more firmly by his side everyone quickly fell in line. And with his charming smile and affable manner, they were all too happy to pretend that the headboy, their darling Tom couldn't be capable of such depravity.

Relief smothered her when his silver eyes finally focused on her where she stood across the room. She didn't dare take a step closer. Didn't dare breathe her desire to hold him into the sterile room. Not even as he struggled to pull himself up and reached for water to soothe his no doubt parched throat. It was bad enough that she was here. Knowing that he would be okay would have to be enough.

She stood drinking him in even as the silence threatened to break her. She could discern the fear in his gaze as he looked at her. Whether it was of her or for her she was uncertain, but it hurt all the same. No matter, it was her fault that he was here and she needed to make certain that he'd never be in this situation again.

"Anastasia."

Her name sounded fragile on his lips, as though its mere utterance would shatter the carefully maintained distance between them. She felt tears prick the corner of her eyes. If she hadn't been so selfish she'd have realised that she was putting him in danger.

He cleared his throat and shifted on the small cot. It was ridiculous that he could effect such an air of dignity in such a small bed and she fought to hide the twitch of her lips.

"Princess?"

He wasn't doing the best job of keeping the fear from colouring his tone. Dread pooled low and heavy in her gut.

"Lord Malfoy, I -"

"Don't you fucking dare."

She was taken aback by the harshly rasped words. Gone was the minute fear and its place was a fit of all-consuming anger.

"Lord Malfoy, it is with great regret that I withdraw my consent to your courtship."

Her voice came out much stronger than she felt. As it was, she felt a hair's breadth from collapse. He struggled in earnest against the stark white sheets, swinging his legs from the bed and making to stand. When his legs threatened to give out beneath him she scrambled to his side. All thoughts of what she ought to do derailed by his impending fall. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, fingers desperate to take purchase.

"If it's Riddle, I can handle him," he said tightly. It was clear to her that standing was causing him great pain.

"Brax-"

"I shan't let that muggle raised miscreant threaten what we have. Threaten you."

She closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears that threatened to wreck her, burying her face in the thin cotton of his hospital gown. The hand that had taken residence in her hair rubbed soothing circles into her scalp and she fought against the urge to melt into him. After so long apart it was criminal to be pressed against him as she was. To take from him the comfort that she had found nowhere else.

A long moment passed with her ensconced in his embraced before she withdrew, moving once more to stand beyond his reach.

"I won't let anyone hurt you because of me Abraxas. You are worth far too much to me to be anyone's whipping boy."

"I'm not fucking afraid of Riddle!" he spat, his anger undermined by his heavy reliance on the cot for stability, by the tinge of fear that lurked in his eyes.

She watched him as his anger fatigued him and he was forced to return his weary body to his bed. He could barely stand for more than a few minutes. Walking was certainly out of the question at the moment and though he tried his best to hide it she could see the tremors in his hands. Had felt them beneath the strength of his grip.

Tom had very nearly ruined him. She could permit no further abuses to him.

"Please, Abraxas, please stay away."

"No."

"Abraxas-"

"I SAID NO!"

She shrank away from the volume of his voice, eyes squeezing shut at the outburst. The silence that followed was tense as he struggled to reign in his anger and she her tears. Despite her best efforts a single drop raced down her cheek and bloomed wet and wide on her starched white blouse.

"Anastasia I'm-"

"If you do not accept my terms I shall have no choice but to turn Ophelia loose."

Judging by the deafening silence that encompassed them she knew that he had heard her. She needn't look at him to know that he was appalled by her suggestion. The action bordering on taboo. To sever the bond with her familiar would destroy both a part of her and of her precious Ophelia, but as the last formal symbol of their courtship, it was the only bargaining chip she had left.

"You would be so heartless?" he asked, voice belied his disbelief.

"I would do whatever it took to save you."

Finally, she met his eyes as she waited for his response. She knew that he would agree. For all his self-importance and haughtiness, Abraxas Malfoy was a loving man. Of that, there was no doubt. If he would not do it to protect himself, he would do it to protect her and Ophelia.

"Fine."

* * *

It was a crushing blow when Abraxas did as she asked. After dissolving their courtship he'd barred her entry to his bedside, claiming that his betrothed would find her presence most inappropriate.

Doreen Abbott was as well-bred as they came, with blonde hair to rival the Malfoys and the delicate disposition to provoke men to duels for her honour. Such were her manners that she did not so much as sniff in disdain at Anastasia's former presence in Abraxas' life. The very presence which had led to the annulment of their prior betrothal.

Such was Anastasia's guilt that she watched from afar as Abraxas' perfect bride to be nursed him back to health. The sight of her dutiful fretting serving to feed her jealousy. For try, as she might, Anastasia was jealous. It was in that jealousy and guilt that Tom often found her on her way back from the hospital wing. And it was in those twisting, dark emotions that Tom found his way back.

* * *

She wasn't so blinded by her emotions that she was unaware of precisely what Tom was doing, in fact, she'd known from his very first attempt what he was trying to accomplish. Tom Riddle was trying to sleep with her. It was clear in the way he brushed off every girl that approached him. In how his touches lingered at her lower back, or at the crook of her elbow. It was very evident in the hungry look that eclipsed his face when they were alone. In the way that he tried to consume her in the scant moments of privacy occasionally afforded to them in the Slytherin common room.

No, Anastasia was not blind. She just didn't know if she wanted to stop him. If she could.

* * *

The air by the lake was crisp, causing her nose to sting and her eyes to water. Winter had finally set in at Hogwarts, a thin layer of soft snow blanketing the earth. Tom was off on an errand for Professor Slughorn and she'd taken the time alone to wander down to the lake. She was not particularly fond of the cold. To be blunt she hated cold weather. However, the call of solitude sung to her, drew her from the warmth of the old castle and to the frigid grounds below. It felt freeing to be unfettered from Tom. To be without the cloying, suffocating nature of his personality.

To be with Tom was to be owned by him, to be possessed by him. A fact that she had been blissfully ignorant to previous to their separation. It was not a quiet possession, not an exchange between equals. Not to have and be held. It was proprietorship. She was a thing that he had that others were not to play with. A bauble for the poor orphan. A thing to be coveted and once possessed consumed.

She was stood with her back to the castle, though not far away, looking out at the dark water, enjoying the moment of solitude. The opportunity to be. Not a thing. Just Anastasia.

"How is it that the more I see my betrothed the more I want you?"

Her heart plummeted into her stomach and her eyes snapped open. She didn't turn to face him.

"You shouldn't be here, Lord Malfoy."

The polished toe of his black shoes came into view first, her eyes trained firmly on the ground.

"And yet I find myself unable to stay away."

His voice held promises of things she longed to hear, of a man that she could love. Of things, she was now forbidden.

"I think it best you keep your distance."

He chuckled as he took a step closer, her head finally snapping up to meet his eyes. "I've told you before I'm not afraid of Riddle."

"I find I have enough fear to keep us both alive."

Her back colliding roughly with the cut rock of the castle alerted her to the end of her retreat. She closed her eyes against his approach, against him.

"How breathtaking you are, salvation among the damned." His warm breath fanned over her face, alighting her senses, his voice barely above a whisper carried on the wind.

"You belong to another, Abraxas."

He was impossibly close now, the barely-there touch of his lips against hers as he spoke as much her undoing as the words themself.

"My heart is yours."

* * *

It was the physical embodiment of euphoria to be with her again, his Anastasia. For that is who she would always be. Whether Riddle chose to see that or not was inconsequential, she'd always have a place with him. Her lips parted easily against his ministrations, the breathy moans she tried to swallow igniting in him the desire to hide her away. To protect her from the world and its horrors. She deserved so much more than he could give her. But Abraxas was a selfish man. He would take from her all that she could offer, for as long as she could offer it, and when she would have him no more, only then would he let her go.

* * *

When finally they separated they were both in quite the state. Abraxas's robes were rumpled and his hair tousled. Her fingers trailed gently against a few prominent love bites that could be seen above his collar, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Princess, I'm afraid I'll actually have to have you if you insist upon touching me like this."

She watched as his eyes tracked the movement of her tongue against her lips.

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea." Her voice was breathy, even to her own ears and warmth pooled low in her belly at the possibility.

His chuckle was muffled against her neck as he slotted himself between her thighs once more, stroking the prominent bulge in his trousers shallowly against her, "When can I see you again?"

The question was sobering and she attempted to withdraw from his embrace. There was no telling how long she'd been wrapped up in him, or who may have happened upon them. Dread threatened to consume her at the thought of what Tom would do if he saw them. If he knew.

Abraxas was having none of it, one of his roaming hands rubbing delicious circles over her clit.

"Now, now Princess, you aren't thinking about him are you?"

Her only response was a whimper as he picked up the pace on her clit. She could feel her release building with every swipe of his skilled fingers. It was difficult to think about all the ways that Tom would exact his retribution when Abraxas was eliciting such delicious sensations.

"Just like that, Princess."

She was vaguely aware of what he was saying, lost to the throes of her impending orgasm, her nails digging into the muscled cords of his biceps.

"Look at me, Princess."

She didn't listen couldn't listen, her release just out of reach.

"Look at me."

Her eyes snapped open to see his slate grey eyes almost black with lust.

"You're mine."

The orgasm that ripped through her as she struggled to stand, wedged between Abraxas and the wall was undeniably the strongest that she'd ever had.


	8. Searing

**Trigger Warning: this chapter contains a minor assault and graphic violence.**

* * *

Maxamillian Nott was a young man of very little note. Apart from his sire's penning of the now widely respected and often disputed _Directory, _there was very little that could be considered to be remarkable about him. His awareness of this fact grated. In Tom Riddle, he saw his recompense. The last heir to the most distinguished and reputable house of Salazar Slytherin himself was not something to be scoffed at. No, Maxamillian Nott was not a young man that others would claim to be very anything, and in the damp, decaying disregard of his peers, he bloomed.

Being overlooked was an advantage that few knew how to exploit. Maximillian understood it for what it truly was. An opportunity. His position in Tom's inner circle attested to his skill. There was very little that went on in the castle without his knowing. It was for this reason alone that it came as very little surprise to him to discover that one Anastasia Zabini and Abraxas Malfoy had been sneaking around the castle when Tom was indisposed.

Several weeks had come and gone since his discovery of the witch's skulduggery and he'd yet to determine which avenue would yield the best results. Finally, as spring began to inflict itself upon the castle, Maximillian had decided upon his course of action.

He was waiting patiently for Zabini's return in the shadowy hallway that she often took to the common room after her meetings with Malfoy. The blond was sure to be on his broom once again. Plausible deniability would have continued to work to their advantage had Maximillian not seen them himself. He smirked when he revealed himself by stepping directly into her path, eliciting a small yelp from the girl. Yes, he'd certainly made the right choice by not going to Riddle.

"You know Zabini if I didn't know better, I'd think that you were sneaking back from some illicit affair."

His eyes were hawkish as he catalogued her response. How her eyes widened slightly, her hand twitched towards her wand and her posture stiffened, her bag swinging from her shoulder. The suspicion that coloured her expression was delicious. To her credit, she'd been careful. Annoyingly so, in fact. He'd only been able to actually catch the bare bones of their interactions a few times. However, years of observing his peers had sharpened his perception to a deadly point. He didn't need much to root out the truth. Scant though they may be he was certain the interactions between the two could only mean one thing.

"Well, Nott, as you've yourself just stated, you know better."

Ah, so the witch thought to call his bluff. Just as well, he'd get what he came for then report to Riddle. He took a step towards her, close enough to touch. So he did. He curled his long fingers into the mass of hair at the nape of her neck, tugging roughly to tilt her head backwards.

"If you're going to share what's Riddle's with all and sundry, it's only fitting that I get a taste. Don't you think, _princess_?"

He attacked her lips with fervour, devouring her surprise. She tasted of honey and cinnamon. Maxamillian groaned. Her unresponsive lips were full and tempting so he gave in biting them roughly. Her cry of pain was the only invitation that he needed, shoving his tongue into her mouth and crushing her body into the wall. The witch was intoxicating. He could forgive Malfoy's presumption in the face of her allure. When her palms rested against his chest with nary an ounce of force he smiled into the kiss, the wide spread of his lips smearing the red of her across both their faces. What a wanton little harlot. No matter, he'd help her relieve her blatant frustrations since it was clear neither of the men in her life could. He was more than capable of managing the task.

Pain was not a foreign concept to him. Well acquainted with the taste of his father's brand of brutality, with Riddle's variety of punishment. This, however, was unlike anything that he'd endured. His nerves felt flayed and raw, his skull throbbed in concert with his wildly racing heart and white blinded his field of vision. His entire existence was entombed in a cacophony of pain and there seemed to be nothing he could do to alleviate it. Shifting to his left he felt more than heard a sickening crunch. He was certain he'd cracked a few ribs. Worst of all was what lay just beyond the immediate pain. There was a dark and hungry energy that suffused the air, nipping angrily at his skin.

As his vision cleared he was surprised to see what had become of Anastasia. He'd never given much credence to rumours that had swirled around Slytherin that he could not verify. That Anastasia Zabini possessed some otherworldly power, some _other_ magic was what he had dismissed as baseless. A parlour trick used to scare little wizards. The actuality of her inheritance was monstrous. Dark magic pulsed and writhed in the air around her, emanating from her hands which were still held aloft. The smell of charred flesh choked back his fear, clogging his nostrils, fighting its way down his throat. He didn't need to look to know that there would be twin marks burnt through his expensive robes and into the skin of his chest that matched the shape of her hands. His eyes were pulled to the blood that was smeared across her face, blood that he had drawn. Fear congested his senses. He'd miscalculated. Severely.

Her control over her magic wavered, the energy around her hands pulsating erratically before suddenly it abated. A bruise-purple whip materialising in her hands. Maximillian was tempted to scamper away from her as she approached, his injuries thwarted his retreat. Dropping to one knee, her whip of raw dark magic held aloft he came face to face with the nightmarish beauty of a monstrosity.

He flinched away as a clawed hand cupped his cheek, twin portals to a bottomless abyss staring back at him unblinking.

"It isn't polite to spy is it, Maxamillian?"

He'd hesitated for too long, the sharp edges of her claws pricked his already raw skin, a broken sob wrenched from his mangled throat.

It became abundantly clear, as he stared into the fathomless depths of her inky eyes that he had no choice but to agree.

* * *

**There was something undeniably seductive about dark magic. Something that called to the emptiness in his soul, that pacified the crawling unease that marched along his skin. There was something about dark magic that stained a physical space, seeped into the cracks and crevices between the stones, mixed with the very essence of a location and settled into the bones. There was something about his witch crouched over a barely conscious Maximillian Nott, her magic perfuming the air with the potency of her displeasure that stirred his cock to life and his feet to still, his heart beating a wild metre in his chest.**

* * *

Maxamillian Nott was a foot soldier that did his best work in the shadows. To find him on the cusp of death at the hands of his witch was baffling. She'd left him to the hands of fate. He'd be lucky if another student or the groundskeeper happened upon him before he succumbed to his injuries. That she would leave anyone to such a fate, far less one of his knights roused his suspicion.

He approached only after he was sure that Anastasia was no longer in the vicinity. It would not do to have her aware of his flimsy knowledge. Nott's head was propped up against the wall that he'd been flung against, the vermillion smears from his journey to the floor slicked the stone walls. He didn't have time to waste with pleasantries, instead, he battered his way into Nott's mind with little care for the consequences. The fear that manifested itself there overwhelmed him immediately. What he had managed to extract from Nott before he'd needed to evacuate were flashes of images and thick, oppressive terror.

Stumbling to his feet he pointed a shaky hand at the now unconscious man, levitating him to the infirmary.

* * *

Madame Dupont had looked at Tom with thinly veiled suspicion when he'd arrived with Nott. He was certain that the matron remembered him carting in one Lucretia Black some months earlier. The old crone had never been one to fall for the charms and easy smiles that he offered. She'd always viewed him as she had every other student. An annoyance. Her suspicious gaze seemed to dissolve as his hands shook. He quickly stuffed them in his pockets.

As she worked on Nott, Tom fought to quell the tremors in his hands. It had been quite some time since Tom had been confronted with the fear of his own mortality. Nott's fear had been a real tangible thing, causing Tom's mouth to salivate as bile roiled hot in his stomach, fighting its way up his throat. And Anastasia, she'd been —

_She's brilliant and beautiful and lethal._

Apparently Mulciber was not prone to exaggeration.

* * *

News of Nott's condition reached the student body quickly. Nott had apparently startled some students on their way for an early breakfast. Madame Dupont had needed the help of several professors to subdue Nott and cast sufficient silencing charms on the ward. According to the rumour mill, he'd screamed himself raw.

Tom's focus settled on the witch beside him. She gave nothing away, showing the appropriate amount of concern for one's fellow student. It didn't sit well with him that his little cascabel proved to be so talented at deceit. For a moment their eyes locked, and Tom was transported to the cesspool of fetid fear that had corroded Nott's thoughts. Suppressing a shiver Tom dropped a perfunctory kiss to her brow. It would not do to have her aware of what he knew and how deeply it had shaken him.

* * *

Mulciber was easy to isolate after he and his knights had finished their visit with Nott. Tom did his best to put aside the rising tide of unease that threatened to swallow him. He'd been plagued by Nott's predicament at every turn. Tom didn't do well with not knowing. He was embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that he had overlooked a potential landmine.

He levelled Mulciber with an even stare, from the other man's cool demeanour he'd guess that Mulciber was well aware of precisely who had put Nott in the infirmary. Or, at the very least he had a good idea.

"What do you know about Anastasia Zabini?"

* * *

Tom used his free period before lunch and after a double block of potions to compile several tomes relating to the history of the Italian wizarding community. From his brief perusal of the subject, the name Zabini had already cropped up several times. When finally he'd compiled all that he thought pertinent to the subject he retired to his common room. The headgirl, he knew, would be gone at least until dinner, giving him the opportunity to use the space unencumbered.

He had no real reason to distrust Mulciber's gruff words, but he needed to verify. To see for himself the gem that he'd managed to unearth. The diamond he could yet fashion.

Dust particles attacked his nose as soon as he prised open the third in a pile of quickly depleting research. The Zabinis were an old and noble pureblood family from everything he had gleaned. The ancient house could be accurately traced back hundreds of centuries, all the way back to the magiks of old. He supposed that such an illustrious history could account for her mastery of magic. Afterall, he'd known that his potential, his raw magic far surpassed that of his peers long before he'd confirmed his heritage.

If Mulciber was to be completely believed there had been murmurings that followed the Zabini's from Italy about the family's alignment with forces beyond the wizarding world. It was rumoured that they had made a deal with a demon for their powers.

Tom had scoffed at this supposition. He knew muggle interference when he heard it. He'd long been subject to the insidious nature of muggles. How they could twist and defile and corrupt wizarding history with their ignorance and malice. Tom knew that demons did not exist. There were no little spirits of ill will whispering naughty things in anyone's ears. Some people were just weak to their baser nature. Even Tom fell sometimes to the call of the urges buried deep in his psyche, but unlike muggles, he'd not foist the blame of such weakness upon some unknown.

Mulciber had to have been mistaken. Closing the last of the dusty books Tom was certain that Anastasia was simply an ordinary witch. One whose magic was old and powerful, not unlike his own. He smiled to himself, a jigsaw of sharp edges and unbridled mania. He'd expect nothing less of a witch who could so easily capture his attention.

* * *

Despite his injuries, Nott recovers quickly. In less than a week, he is discharged from Madame Dupont's care and thrust once more into the dungeons. Tom observes Nott over the top of Anastasia's head as he buries his nose in the coils of her hair, how the slip of a man fidgets when the full weight of Tom's gaze pins him to his seat across the way. An image of her bloodied lip and smoking hands flits across his mind. He remembers now, as he watches the colour drain from Nott's face, the twin holes that had been seared into Nott's flesh.

"Tell me, Nott," Tom says as he disentangles himself from his witch, eyes always trained on his prey "what would give you the impression that you had any right to touch her."

Tom is vaguely aware of a warm hand wrapping around his wrist and gently tugging him backwards as he stands from his chair. His body taut with anger at his realization. How could he have been so imperceptive? So ensconced was he in unravelling the mystery that is Anastasia that he'd completely bypassed her motive.

One of his knights had forced themselves upon her. No matter how brief.

"Tom, please," she says quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

He'd been immediately reminded of her duplicity the morning after Nott's incident. How easy it had seemed for her to lie to him. Seeing her now, her large brown eyes pleading he is certain that it had been another of her attempts to sway him. A misguided effort to salvage his already blackened soul. He disregards Nott for the moment, crouching to eye level as he brings her trembling hand to his lips.

"Your attempts to protect him are admirable, my little cascabel," he says, his lips brushing against her knuckles as he speaks, "but I'm afraid Maxamillian must still be punished by his Lord."

"Crucio."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading. As always your feedback is greatly appreciated.**


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